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A review by heyimaghost
The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann
5.0
‘. . .if you have read The Magic Mountain once, I recommend you read it twice.’
- Thomas Mann
A tall order for anyone who has actually read the book, and if you took Mann’s advice, I would gladly shake your hand. ‘‘A brick of ideas’ is how I once described it. Mann describes it as a ‘time-romance,’ which is probably more accurate.
I read in a review that no one should attempt to 'climb' (my word) The Magic Mountain until after they turn thirty. I'm not sure why exactly, but it did give me a sense of foreboding, especially seeing as I was already 300 pages in and still within my twenty-ninth year. But having read it, I would like to go back and tell my twenty-one-year-old self to read it. Would he have understood it? Probably not. Did I even understand it? Probably not.
To call it a novel seems like a mislabelling of sorts. This type of book is called a 'novel of ideas,' which clarifies things somewhat. Though, to be fair, there seems to be far more ideas than plot. Of plot, in fact, there's very little. When asked by a coworker what the book was about, I told her that I could talk about that for thirty minutes and still not explain the plot. It's secondary anyway: a vessel to carry the heavy concepts of the book.
And what of the concepts? The main one seems to be time and our understanding of it. He goes back to it frequently, which is fitting since one point he deals with is the circular nature of time. But the more interesting point, to me, is the relative nature of time. There is a quote from the book which is fitting: ‘Great spaces of time passed in unbroken uniformity tend to shrink together in a way to make the heart stop beating for fear; when one day is like all the others, then they are all like one; complete uniformity would make the longest life seem short, and as though it had stolen away from us unawares.’ We feel, along with Castorp, that the time ceases to become a measurable element, and merely a philosophical concept. And who of us hasn’t felt this phenomena? I am toying with the concept that the Berghof Sanatorium is representative of isolation in general, wherein time no longer becomes a factor. It is a trap. We withdraw from the world, and lose consciousness of time and space. We hold to the idea that we will leave one day, but we only sink further and further into our isolation. The body craves connection, but eventually we numb ourselves to the loss and forget that we ever wanted it. I have some basis for this in Mann’s explanation of The Magic Mountain, but it’s a loose theory, so don’t read too much into it. Of course, we can withdraw from the world, but the world will call us forth like 'the shock that fired the mine beneath the magic mountain, and set our sleeper ungently outside the gates.' That is, I think, partially the message at the end of it all. But I'll move on.
Another major element of the book is the dichotomy between--since I can’t think of a better word for it--medievalism and humanism/progressivism. This is mostly done through the arguments between Naphta and Settembrini. Which one Mann sides with is not made clear, but I like to think that, like myself, he holds to both views simultaneously. I think we all tend towards contradiction, and in Castorp’s reaction to these discussions, we can see his flirtation with it. Settembrini might hate the paradox, but Castorp clearly does not, as he seems to embrace both the Jesuit and the Humanist. Personally, I lean towards Naphta’s Catholic and Medieval arguments, but that’s neither here nor there.
I won’t go on much longer. Though, I would like to touch on one other element--completely ignoring the issue of health and illness, which is crucial but also inconsequential to the novel--which is that of alchemy. Mann calls it a '“heightening” enhancement,' but throughout the book we are given discussions--mostly one sided--with Naphta about alchemy. It’s an interesting title, The Magic Mountain, as I literally feel that I have climbed the book, I think that is what Mann meant by a '“heightening” enhancement.' I cannot speak for other readers, but I myself, along with Castorp, rose as we progressed. We are told that Castorp is nothing worth mentioning--not in those words--at the beginning of the story, and yet he spends hours upon hours contemplating deep theological, biological, philosophical, and even, to a smaller degree, political concepts. He is--alchemically--changed into a higher state by his visit to the Berghof Sanatorium, and I feel like I was as well.
‘For man himself is a mystery, and all humanity rests upon reverence before the mystery that is man.’
- Thomas Mann
- Thomas Mann
A tall order for anyone who has actually read the book, and if you took Mann’s advice, I would gladly shake your hand. ‘‘A brick of ideas’ is how I once described it. Mann describes it as a ‘time-romance,’ which is probably more accurate.
I read in a review that no one should attempt to 'climb' (my word) The Magic Mountain until after they turn thirty. I'm not sure why exactly, but it did give me a sense of foreboding, especially seeing as I was already 300 pages in and still within my twenty-ninth year. But having read it, I would like to go back and tell my twenty-one-year-old self to read it. Would he have understood it? Probably not. Did I even understand it? Probably not.
To call it a novel seems like a mislabelling of sorts. This type of book is called a 'novel of ideas,' which clarifies things somewhat. Though, to be fair, there seems to be far more ideas than plot. Of plot, in fact, there's very little. When asked by a coworker what the book was about, I told her that I could talk about that for thirty minutes and still not explain the plot. It's secondary anyway: a vessel to carry the heavy concepts of the book.
And what of the concepts? The main one seems to be time and our understanding of it. He goes back to it frequently, which is fitting since one point he deals with is the circular nature of time. But the more interesting point, to me, is the relative nature of time. There is a quote from the book which is fitting: ‘Great spaces of time passed in unbroken uniformity tend to shrink together in a way to make the heart stop beating for fear; when one day is like all the others, then they are all like one; complete uniformity would make the longest life seem short, and as though it had stolen away from us unawares.’ We feel, along with Castorp, that the time ceases to become a measurable element, and merely a philosophical concept. And who of us hasn’t felt this phenomena? I am toying with the concept that the Berghof Sanatorium is representative of isolation in general, wherein time no longer becomes a factor. It is a trap. We withdraw from the world, and lose consciousness of time and space. We hold to the idea that we will leave one day, but we only sink further and further into our isolation. The body craves connection, but eventually we numb ourselves to the loss and forget that we ever wanted it. I have some basis for this in Mann’s explanation of The Magic Mountain, but it’s a loose theory, so don’t read too much into it. Of course, we can withdraw from the world, but the world will call us forth like 'the shock that fired the mine beneath the magic mountain, and set our sleeper ungently outside the gates.' That is, I think, partially the message at the end of it all. But I'll move on.
Another major element of the book is the dichotomy between--since I can’t think of a better word for it--medievalism and humanism/progressivism. This is mostly done through the arguments between Naphta and Settembrini. Which one Mann sides with is not made clear, but I like to think that, like myself, he holds to both views simultaneously. I think we all tend towards contradiction, and in Castorp’s reaction to these discussions, we can see his flirtation with it. Settembrini might hate the paradox, but Castorp clearly does not, as he seems to embrace both the Jesuit and the Humanist. Personally, I lean towards Naphta’s Catholic and Medieval arguments, but that’s neither here nor there.
I won’t go on much longer. Though, I would like to touch on one other element--completely ignoring the issue of health and illness, which is crucial but also inconsequential to the novel--which is that of alchemy. Mann calls it a '“heightening” enhancement,' but throughout the book we are given discussions--mostly one sided--with Naphta about alchemy. It’s an interesting title, The Magic Mountain, as I literally feel that I have climbed the book, I think that is what Mann meant by a '“heightening” enhancement.' I cannot speak for other readers, but I myself, along with Castorp, rose as we progressed. We are told that Castorp is nothing worth mentioning--not in those words--at the beginning of the story, and yet he spends hours upon hours contemplating deep theological, biological, philosophical, and even, to a smaller degree, political concepts. He is--alchemically--changed into a higher state by his visit to the Berghof Sanatorium, and I feel like I was as well.
‘For man himself is a mystery, and all humanity rests upon reverence before the mystery that is man.’
- Thomas Mann